A Father's Care
by Tenarus
Summary: Through the creation of two small figurines, a Lord of Elves reflects on the two most important people he has lost in his long life.


It was dark and the pale glow of the moon shone dimly upon the lands of Valinor. One hundred and twenty years had passed since the War of the Ring, and the crowning of the King, and the passage of the last great Elves into the West. And as time withered away like the leaves of the trees, Middle-earth ever faded into memory.  
  
But there sat in Tol-Eressëa a lone, saddened figure - an Elf lord - brows knitted tightly in concentration and his sea-grey eyes set hard as unmoving stone. In his hands were tools of the shaping of stone, and with them he labored upon his creation.  
  
Two small statuettes they were, one male and one female, each of them beautiful when standing alone, but together creating an image altogether more extraordinary. He formed, fashioned, and polished them with a father's loving hand, for this project of craft was no mere passive occupation, but a labor of love. This was a work of devotion, an exorcism for a grieving spirit; it was a means to purge regret and sorrow that lingered still for what had been left behind on long distant shores. His hands shook and trembled as they molded and shaped the two figures, so great was the burden of time and memory upon him. The images and faces burned and tormented him, even in the supposed peace of dreams.  
  
He could see them so clearly now being utterly separated from their presence. The warm heat of the sun and it's light shining down upon them like a beacon of hope that love still survived and triumphed. Yet, he had not seen that light until he gone from them, sundered by the seas and by the fates of the Two Kindreds. They haunted his thoughts, filled his dreams with both sadness and joy. He felt their pains and pleasures as they lived their lives. But it was now all ended. A strange thing it was, though, to feel both joy and sorrow at once in Paradise.  
  
Still, he worked on diligently, turning his attention then to the female figurine, and he could see in his mind's eye the Woman whose image he now carved. Her hair was black as the silken night, grey eyes burning by firelight. She moved with the grace and wisdom of ages, and her beauty was beyond any, save one, whose likeness was said to be found in her. A daughter, lost and left behind, joined to a fate to which she was not born. All for Hope. All for love.  
  
She had in her the spirit of his ancestors, and in part, he envied her that. She had chosen what he could not, what he dared not. All for the love of a Man. One Man alone, born into a fate not deserved. All the fortunes and hopes for the future were laid at his feet, and unbidden, he took them upon himself and carried them.  
  
The Elf turned then his eyes upon the other figurine. The one fashioned in the likeness of that Man. But no ordinary Man was he. He carried with him the greatness of all those who had ever come before him. He was all that was good of the Second born: strong, courageous, unyielding in course, unbreakable of spirit, yet filled to overflowing by unquenchable love of life. He was unlike any other the Elf had ever seen, though he had seen many. But this Man had been to him as close a son as his own flesh and blood, and though never spoken, that honor was earned. The expectations that had been thrust upon him were more than should have been expected of any Man. Yet he bore his burdens with pride, and never once showed shame of the blood that burned in his veins. Perhaps it was that pride, or even his indefatigable hope that drew the Elf-lord's daughter to him. Yet, for claiming so high a prize, the Lord had waxed cold upon he who once had been known as a son, and in doing so, become that which he had sworn never to be. He had become Elwë, sending the unwanted suitor away on a quest that seemed so hopeless.  
  
But the impossible, it seemed, was never quite that when it concerned the Song of Ilúvatar. And so he had seen his daughter married to the man he had raised, and because for her alone he lived, for him, she would die. Her decision had always been silently begrudged, even when father and daughter were parted for the last time. The sorrow of the separation had never faded, never diminished; only growing stronger as time passed by. Yet, for the Man whom all Middle-earth knew as Elessar, all anger had faded away. All that remained of the bitterness of that time was an aching regret over what love had cost them.  
  
Often at night, his fostered son would appear to him in dreams. He was always the same, tall and slender, yet so strong and enduring. His eyes were grey as the stone of the earth, his hair as ebon waves. He was the true descendant of Tar-Minyatur.  
  
The great Elf slumped then in his chair as familiar tears pooled in his eyes. The thought of what he had lost so overwhelmed him at times that it seemed impossible to go on. How he wished to see them again.  
  
And for a while, he sat there, still and unmoving. But suddenly, he was startled when two slender hands wove their way into his slick, black hair. They began softly massaging his stress-taut temples, kneading the tension from his very soul. He sighed.  
  
"Why do you insist on working yourself into such a state, love?" a silky, feminine voice whispered from behind him. "You of all should realize that it serves no purpose."  
  
"I need no lectures on subjects I well comprehend," he replied briskly, earning him a light slap on the shoulder.  
  
"You are so very stubborn, my Half-Elf" she replied, her eyes twinkling. "It must be a symptom of your mortal blood."  
  
He nodded tightly and she noticed a sadness seep into his eyes. "Aye, but it is often so admirable a trait."  
  
She watched closely as his grey eyes waxed into memory and his long, slender fingers brushed over the statuettes that he had crafted. But then, his voice echoed out and she started slightly.  
  
"It is a strange matter," he said, thoughtfully, "that while I still remained with them, I longed for the peace and sanctuary of Elven-home. Yet, I find myself now longing only for their company." Suddenly, he turned about in his chair and looked upon her face. "Do you think me mad?"  
  
She laughed and caressed his face. "I do not think you mad," she then said, smiling. "I, too, long for her in my arms. I, too, feel regret." But she then grew silent.  
  
He watched her for a moment as her eyes swam under the burden of memory, and he saw in her at once longing and content, and he wondered at it. But then, she startled from her reverie and returned her gaze upon him. And he said to her gently, "What have you to regret?"  
  
"I regret being forced to leave so suddenly," she replied softly. "I regret that I did not say goodbye to our daughter when I had the chance. But mostly, I regret not being able to see her marry the one she was set upon Arda for, and I regret that I shall never know him as you did or that I will never look upon my own grandchildren's faces. These are the things I regret. For though the circumstances were beyond my control, my feelings are not."  
  
Stillness descended.  
  
"You would have liked him, I think," he said suddenly, breaking the moment of silence that had fallen between them. He turned in his chair to face her. "Do you remember Elendil?"  
  
She smiled and nodded, and he noted with curiosity the hint of embarrassment that crept over her features. "I do remember Elendil," she replied, her smile widening. "He was very wonderful."  
  
The Elf-lord nodded. "He was more like to Elendil than any before him," he proudly continued. "Not even Isildur or Anárion could match him. He held the beauty and sadness of the seas in his eyes. I sent our daughter away because of him, because of my fear of him. I knew all along, perhaps, that she would fall in love with him, but I never imagined I would, too."  
  
His head slumped and a bitter tear wound its way down the shaped cheek of the Elf. His heart wrenched inside his chest as memories of the child he raised as his own flooded his memory, and of how he had grown, so tall and perfect before his own eyes, become as one of his own flesh and blood. The love had never ended, even in the worst of times, when fate had come between them, and he realized then that the love would never end, not even after the world about them was littered and destroyed, and all he knew and loved gone. But hope lingered still, and he hung on to possibility that perhaps one day, they would be reunited again, in another world beyond Arda.  
  
And his wife watched him, saddened by the pain that passed through his face, but relieved to see that hope remained unquenched by the pain of separation. Gently, she lifted her hand and placed it upon his cheek, rubbing away his salty tears with her thumb, and she sighed deeply as he closed his eyes against the contact.  
  
Then a voice rang out from behind them, and they both turned to see a Wizard standing calmly in the doorway of the study. His pipe was lit and his eyes looked on them alone, but there was a vision within, and seemed as if though he looked up them, his gaze was elsewhere.  
  
"And when the days of this world are ended and the things of knowledge passed into nothingness, a light shall arise from the West," he said, his voice rising like a gentle wind and carrying through the room, bringing with it hope and comfort. "And a great choir of voices shall ring out into the darkness and all that was memory shall be again, perfected, becoming the reality of His vision."  
  
He stepped forward, rested his hand upon the Elf's shoulders, and continued. "Then the shall the Ainur join and the Firstborn again arise to lend their voices to the Harmony of Life, and from the West, the Second born Men shall come. Pleasing this shall be to Eru, that his will should be fulfilled, and he shall reveal unto his children the Secret Fire, and then all shall know their place in His plans."  
  
When his speech had ended, the Wizard smiled, and gazed upon the statues the Elf had so recently completed. His own memory stirred. He glanced again on his friend and sighed. "I miss them, too."  
  
The Elf-lord nodded, but then his eyes lightened, and he said to the Wizard, "Tell me, do you really think we will see them again? Some day?"  
  
The Wizard smiled. "I do. It is said among our order, among our kind, and even among our Lords, that the day you look for and of which I so recently spoke shall come to pass. Indeed, what was spoken was a portion of a song Manwë himself was said to sing, back when the world was yet young. And though I cannot say when this day shall come about, I do have great hope for it, my friend."  
  
"That lightens my heart some great deal, I must say," the Elf sighed. He picked up the statues and gently brushed over each of their faces. "I have lately come to realize they are now gone from us utterly, passed away from this world. I would turn back time if I could, so that I did not allow their love to come between us. I have many regrets, my friend, but that is the greatest of them."  
  
The Wizard stroked his long grey beard, and he smiled secretively and closed his eyes. His eyebrows bristled from under his hat as he blew a puff of smoke. Then the Elves looked on as the cloud swirled and took shape and became as their departed loved ones. But upon their faces rested smiles and their joy was plainly written to see.  
  
The wizard smiled. "That is all I can give you," he said, nodding in the direction of the now decaying cloud of smoke. "But know this: Their lives were lived in joy and happiness. Fruit has been borne of their labour. Their line shall thrive for Ages to come, and in doing so, the race of Men shall be strengthened and not fail. The sacrifice was not made in vain, my friends, and though at the end, doom seemed bitter, it was not so out of regret, but born of the pain of loss. Where they are now is beyond my vision, but this I know! They are happy. They would want you both to happy, too."  
  
Wiping a tear from her eye, the Elven lady smiled and took the Wizard's hand. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."  
  
The Wizard nodded and smiled. "You are most welcome, my Lady. But now, I must take my leave. I confess I have made many promises to visit many friends, and the days do not seem to hold time enough to make them all. But alas, I must try! Farewell, and may the grace of Ilúvatar smile down upon you."  
  
The couple waved as the Wizard walked away, a spring in his step and humming the tune of some unknown song. And together, they stood, gazing down fondly upon the statues and remembering with joy the times that had been shared - the laughs, the tears, the conversations, the hugs, the kisses, the long nights of comfort when they were children. Hope remained - hope for the present and for the future, when they would meet again in a different world - and they were, at last, content.  
  
And it is said that the Elf-lord never once neglected the two figurines, which his own hands had crafted from shapeless stone, and which he placed upon his mantle with a father's care. And there they stayed, even until the end of Arda had come, and they were never forgotten, but remembered with love. Aragorn and Arwen, lovers destined by the Song to be joined together, but they were his children.his beloved children. 


End file.
